In Cautious Tones
by outofivanhoe
Summary: Following the war Draco Malfoy has adopted an almost hermetic existence. But can he be left to brood in peace, when both old friends and an unknown Muggle girl seem intent on disturbing his solitude and dredging up memories of the past?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, and everything related to him, is not mine. Nor are the quotes at the opening of each chapter, as well as the title, which are taken from the Billy Joel song 'And So It Goes'.  
**

**A/N: This is the first chaptered fic I've written in a while, and I've worked long and hard at it- so naturally I'm dying for some constructive criticism. Please be lovely people and provide! This fic is provisionally completed, and I'll post each chapter as it's Betad. Speaking of which, huge thanks to Alicia (Incarnadine), who has been doing an incredible job on the Beta, for which I am eternally grateful.  
**

**Chapter 1**

_In every heart there is a room,_

_A sanctuary, safe and strong,_

_To heal the wounds from lovers past_

_Until a new one comes along..._

"You must be Mr Malfoy," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Kate Gordon-Smythe." He shook her hand mechanically, his breath caught in his throat. Her youthful face was framed by untamed strawberry-blonde hair, her snub nose was peppered with freckles, and her blue eyes shone with a permanent twinkle, as if she was waiting for him to get the joke. She was pleasant-looking, though not exceptional, but it wasn't her beauty which had stalled Draco. There was only a slight physical similarity, but that smile... A smile of innocence and kindness and everything which had always remained unattainable for Draco. A smile which momentarily drowned all of his conscious thoughts in the memories he had so long sought to avoid, memories of _her_.

Quite frankly, this was the last thing he needed. It had been a long, trying day, and suddenly the past which he had been trying to escape from was popping up everywhere. First Blaise, now this.

"And you have come to my house unannounced because...?" Even though Mrs. Phillips, standing in the doorway, was outside of his field of vision, he knew that his housekeeper was flinching at his rudeness.

"I'll go get some tea, shall I?" she offered, as if trying to make up for her master's lack of social graces. Which showed how much_ she_ knew. Draco had plenty of social graces; he just didn't choose to waste them on Muggles. Fortunately she took Draco's silence as agreement, and disappeared out of the door, leaving him alone in the drawing room with the girl. Mrs. Phillips annoyed him immensely, being not only a Muggle, but furthermore a talkative, bustling type of woman of the sort he despised. However, he did not dare be as rude to her as he would have liked, as she also happened to be very good at her job. Few other housekeepers would be so efficient as to permit him to have so little contact with the world. Restraining his temper, having _consideration_ for a Muggle, even, was one of many prices he paid to avoid both magical and Muggle society.

Whatever Mrs Phillips might have feared, his guest sadly did not seem to be particularly discouraged by his words or his tone, and prattled on regardless.

"Well, we've just moved into my great aunt's estate, the one with the grounds backing onto the canal, as sadly she passed away a couple of months ago. I thought I might as well come round to meet our new neighbour while my parents are busy supervising the removal men and so on." She smiled broadly. Draco was unable to share her happiness. New neighbours? He knew the house she meant; its land was adjacent to his own, and the almost bed-ridden state of its previous occupant had been one of the major attractions for Draco in buying his own property. He didn't want to have to deal with anyone prying into his affairs, or wandering onto his land unexpectedly- which was, of course, precisely what this girl had done this afternoon. He would have to discourage her from doing so in the future. Hopefully if he was sufficiently rude, not only would _she _not come back, but the rest of her family would likewise give him a wide berth.

He paid little attention as she babbled about her family, hoping that this would be hint enough, and that he wouldn't be forced to confront her more directly. He wasn't sure he could bear arguing with someone who reminded him so strangely and forcefully of... Well, he had plenty of other things to consider while she talked. What to do about the Blaise thing, for example. That had been bad enough on its own, without this on top of it.

He had encountered Zabini in Gringotts' foyer that morning on one of his rare visits to Diagon Alley. Sadly there was the occasional piece of business which required his personal attention, and though he might have liked to ignore it, if he did not attend to his estate than he would no longer be able to afford the hermetic lifestyle he had built for himself. It had struck him once again as amazing that the slippery former spy, one of the Dark Lord's moles in the Ministry, hadn't ended up in Azkaban. But Blaise had played every card he had to remain free; turning in other former Death Eaters, using the infamous 'Imperius defence'. In the end, while he had been an active Death Eater, the crimes he had been involved in just weren't the shocking atrocities of some of the others- Blaise had just been ambitious, not a fanatic- and the jury had been helpless to resist his charm and good looks.

He had stayed on the right side of the law in recent years, as far as Draco knew, although he hadn't been in close enough contact with any wizards- or indeed with anyone at all- to know for sure. However now, with the war and all its horrors already receding in the public memory, it seemed that Blaise had judged that the time was right to embark on a new scheme. And he wanted it to be financed by Malfoy money.

Draco wasn't exactly enthusiastic about the idea. He wanted to remain as far removed from the wizarding world as possible, for one thing, but even if that weren't the case, he still wouldn't be desperate to join in with some ex-Death Eater's hare-brained plot to regain power and prestige. Draco hadn't been told the details of the plan, but he knew Death Eaters, and he knew Zabini. And he knew it would most likely involve killing somebody. If there was one thing which Draco knew with more certainty than anything else, it was that he didn't want any more blood on his hands. He had hoped that those days were long gone, and that by preserving his isolation he had ensured that they wouldn't return. It seemed he had thought wrong.

But Draco had rarely been permitted to make his own choices, and it seemed that this was to be no exception. Blaise had foreseen, given Draco's complete withdrawal from magical society, that the Malfoy heir wouldn't be easily persuaded into helping. And to someone like Blaise that left only one option: coercion. Blaise was threatening to reveal the role Draco had played in the ambush and murder of Ginevra Weasley, one of the most horrific- and, more importantly, headline-grabbing- atrocities of the whole war.

He could still remember the photo splashed across the Daily Prophet the next day; her slight form splayed at odd angles across the ground, her face still beautiful despite the mutilation caused by various hexes, her red hair muted in the black and white photo. Defiantly not moving, a curious stillness uncommon on the front page of the Prophet. It had caught the public's imagination, this attractive, innocent young girl, beloved of the great Harry Potter, caught up in a devastating war which had cut her life's course tragically and unnecessarily short. There was nothing for it, Draco reasoned. He would have to go along with Zabini, at least for a little while. There could surely be no harm in just going along to the meeting Blaise had told him about, just to hear what this plan actually was. He didn't _have _to go any further with it.

This girl was almost more unsettling than the Blaise thing. She was still talking, though starting to falter a little now in the face of Draco's continued silence. He had taken in a few of the details despite himself- Fine Arts student, Oxford University, only child, parents lawyers in London, though don't actually practise so much these days, have a few small business ventures... It all sounded too neat to Draco, too perfect: after the war he was used to broken families and shattered ambitions, not polite, well-off parents with a lovely daughter attending a good university. But her normalcy, while entirely foreign to Draco, wasn't what troubled him. Rather it was the things which were familiar- something in her manner, her smile, her voice. In spite of himself, despite long years of trying to forget, he couldn't prevent his thoughts from slipping back, turning inevitably back to _her..._

_She was sitting on the bench when he arrived, as usual. They tried to vary their meeting points, but this was the one they used most frequently, because of its excellent position. The high wall behind the bench, with its climbing roses softening the harsh stone, meant no-one could watch them from behind. The lack of trees and bushes in the nearby area meant there were few hiding places; nowhere anyone observing either of them could conceal themselves. Draco knew that the Death Eaters possessed no Invisibility Cloaks which were not currently required elsewhere, for more important tasks than tailing a possible mole. The distance from the pathway which idled through the park meant that it was unlikely anyone who happened to be passing by would notice them._

_And of course, she used various glamours to disguise herself each time; an imperative, given her striking red hair. This time her hair and eyes were dark, and she wore baggy clothes which partially disguised her build. The only thing which remained constant between each encounter, Draco had come to realise, was her smile, and the pure, innocent joy which sparkled in her white teeth when it appeared. Its emergences were woefully rare- their meetings were serious and fraught with tension, and as the war raged around them, nobody had much time for smiling any more._

"_You're to make the drop on Dorset Street; there's an old Muggle post box that's no longer in use. It's just after the corner as you come from Sycamore Avenue, which should shield the drop itself from anyone who might be following you. It's not too far outside the magical quarter of London, so it shouldn't arouse suspicion for you to be heading that way."_

"_Will the slot be large enough to fit the package in?" Draco asked, trying to recall the size and shape of Muggle post boxes. "Scrolls are thicker than that flat stuff Muggles use." Draco marvelled a little that he now knew even this much about Muggle affairs, but his time with the Order had taught him many things, and they were constantly trying to find new ways of communicating with their spy, sometimes utilising Muggle means. None of this was anything like the future he would have predicted for himself, he reflected, watching Ginny's lips twist in thought._

"_I'll have someone go down there a couple of days beforehand to enlarge the slot and place a glamour on it so that it still looks right- not that any Death Eater tailing you would know the difference."_

"_Is that everything?" Draco asked, half-hoping for a reason for her to stay a few minutes longer. But no; that was the sole objective of this meeting- the only reason they met at all, ever- and he watched her leave with a strange resignation burning dully inside him._

_It was certainly a strange course, the one life had led him down- entirely contrary to everyone's expectations, his own most of all. But everything had changed that long ago night on the Astronomy Tower. He had known that he didn't want to kill anyone, ever, and by extension, that he didn't want to become a Death Eater. But by that time it was too late for that; he had come so far down that path that his instinct for self-preservation had informed him that not becoming one of them could only mean joining the other side as a spy among the Death Eaters._

_And once that was the case, there could be no more question of not killing anyone. Yes, he avoided it when he could, but among the Death Eaters it was kill or be killed- kill the victims, or be killed by your master- and as much as Draco was repulsed by the act of murder, his will to survive was stronger. At least by working with the Order he could comfort himself with the idea that he was saving lives even while he ended them. This seemed poor recompense, though, as the lives he saved were anonymous and far away, and the lives he ended were the wide-eyed, panicking human beings right in front of him..._

_Somehow, in making that one choice on the Astronomy Tower that fateful evening, he had deprived himself of any further choice in this war. From that moment on there had only been one path open to him. Although at first he had occasionally felt bitter, he was resigned to it by now- content that within the context of this war there were no easy paths to tread. His choice had led him as safely as he could have wished- even more so, in some ways, than many others; despite the constant danger of discovery, for as long as his cover was not blown he was in no danger from either side._

_And in the same way, he had resigned himself to the lack of choice which the Fates seemed to have alloted him in matters of the heart, and he trusted that this path would lead him as surely as the others. He had resisted the idea at first, of course, just as he had the proposal that he should turn traitor to the Dark Lord. But it had been impossible to avoid feeling something for her; not when he saw her week after week, full of life and hope and innocence, throwing herself into her work with the Order as if it was all she had._

_At first it had seemed so strange to see her participating in such tough, dirty, underhanded work, and it had taken Draco some time observing her during their rendezvous before he could work out why. He had long known that she was tough- if there was one thing Weasleys were, it was resilient- and from what the Order members had told him before she became his contact, duplicity certainly wasn't entirely unknown to her. It was just a subtle, slight feeling- not that she couldn't do what she did, but rather that she shouldn't have to. Draco realised that he wanted to protect her, wanted to protect that innocence which was so far from everything he had always known, from anything his cynical nature had even accepted could exist._

_He hadn't wanted to admit it. She was a _Weasley_, after all, the lowest of the low, and he couldn't speak to a single one of her brothers without feeling an almost uncontrollable desire to punch them very hard, right in their inanely grinning mouth. But he couldn't help it- perhaps, he reasoned, all Weasley women were infinitely more amenable than the menfolk, or perhaps she was just an anomaly. Whatever it was, in Draco's eyes, she was perfect, and she was possibly the only person other than himself he had ever wanted to protect: proof, as far as Draco was concerned, that this must be love. And he had no choice about what he had to do next, he realised, watching her return to the pale gravel path, that day in the park. He had to tell her how he felt, because if trying not to admit it to himself had been a weight on his heart, that was nothing compared to staying silent now..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Dislcaimer : Harry Potter et al do not belong to me.**

**A/N : This is the first chaptered fic I've written in a while, and I've worked long and hard at it- so naturally I'm dying for some constructive criticism. Please be lovely people and provide! This is now provisionally finished, and each chapter will go up as it's Betad. Speaking of which, huge thanks to Alicia, who has been doing an incredible job on the Betaing, for which I am eternally grateful. Here's Chapter 2, in which Draco goes riding, Kate asks a personal question, and Blaise outlines his scheme.**

**Chapter 2**

_I spoke to you in cautious tones:_

_You answered me with no pretense._

_And still I feel I said too much-_

_My silence is my self-defence._

Draco felt a shiver of apprehension run through him as he saddled his horse the next day. He was keen to get outside and, when he came to the long straight stretch of bridle path which ran through the forest, push the horse into a canter, maybe even a full gallop. The wind rushing past his ears and the adrenaline through his veins would allow him to forget his current situation, at least for the moment. But Draco had a feeling that no matter how hard he spurred his mount on, it would never be able to outrun his problems.

The thing to do, he decided as he left the stable yard at a brisk trot, rising and falling in the saddle automatically, was to approach it methodically. Try not to feel overwhelmed by this sudden encroachment on his privacy from all sides, but deal with each threat on its own. He had already decided that all he could do about Blaise for the moment was wait and see what this plan of his was. But somehow Kate's innocent visit had thrown him even more than the blackmail. He had even briefly considered that she might be an accomplice of Blaise's, given that both had impinged on his solitude on the same day. However her suggestion that the two households attend some event in the village- apparently the cricket team, whatever that was, had won some local title, and there was to be a prize-giving ceremony and celebration- had quashed this suspicion. No Death Eater, or ally thereof, would ever willingly spend time in the company of Muggles. No, she was no more than an irritation to be strenuously avoided. It was clear she was the interfering type, but all Draco would have to do was be as thoroughly unsociable as possible; a goal which his behaviour the previous evening and brusque refusal to countenance the village 'do' would accomplish much towards. Hopefully she would back off, at least until she returned to university for the final year of her course.

But the problem she posed was more than just the social inconvenience- for Draco it was psychological too. No matter how he tried to suppress it, the whole of the previous evening he had seen Ginny in every gesture, every facial expression, every turn of phrase. And no matter how much he avoided her from now on, the memories dredged up by her presence would still linger for some time. And the longer they remained, the more they would eat away at him, damaging his ability to force them- and the pain they brought- away. Until they burst free and suffocated him with their accusations.

It had almost broken him the first time he had buried those recollections, his grief and guilt. He had entombed them within walls of determined not-thinking-about and tried to lose himself in anything else he could: at first in alcohol, later in music, and increasingly, the beauty of nature. Nature was eternal, and his brief life with all its trials was but a tiny blot on a giant work of art, the beauty and power of which no mere human could ever comprehend. You knew things were bad, Draco considered, when you found yourself seeking consolation in philosophy.

So this was why he had gone off riding this morning, to try to forget his problems in the wind and the rustling leaves, even if he knew they would reappear the moment his horse's gallop slowed and the beauty of the rolling countryside around him lost its novelty. Sometimes he wished he could run forever.

Today, at least, it appeared that this wish would not be granted. He rounded a corner to find himself facing one of the most beautiful views on his land. From a gentle hilltop with the woods at his back he could see down across the fields and farmland, dotted with villages clustered around their church steeples; a green and gold patchwork rolling gently to the distant horizon. But as he rounded that corner today, he also found an easel, and a tousle-haired blonde who had apparently abandoned her painting, and was lying on the springy, summer-bright grass, her eyes closed and her face warmed by the sun. Draco felt himself start once again as she smiled dreamily into the sunlight, and Ginny sprung unbidden again to his mind. He needed to sort out this Kate problem. He cleared his throat.

"I'm afraid this is my land," he told her, sternly. "I'll have to ask you to leave." She started up from where she was lying, squinting against the bright sunlight. She sat strangely, Draco thought, her legs splayed to either side as she stared up at him, pain biting at him once again as she smiled in recognition once she identified the horse's rider.

"Oh God, I didn't even hear you coming!" she exclaimed. "I was trying to paint a little, but, well, it's hard to concentrate on gorgeous, hot days like this, so I just thought I'd sit down for a while, and... Well, I suppose I may as well make the most of the warm weather while it's here at any rate!" Draco forced himself to keep his face emotionless, and not get drawn into speculating about the weather, a conversational gambit by which Muggles seemed to set great store, especially when getting to know new people. He had originally won over Mrs Phillips, in fact, by correctly predicting the onset of rain for his first month at the house- his Augury feather barometer was much more accurate than the Muggle ones.

"I was saying," he told her, "that this is _my_ land. Your grounds end at the next field."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she replied cheerfully. "I wasn't really paying attention. It's a public bridleway anyway, though, you know?"

"I'm sorry?" Draco frowned at her.

"It's a bridleway," she repeated. "Why don't you dismount? You might hear me a little better!"

"A bridleway?" Draco asked, ignoring her suggestion; the last thing he wanted was to be better positioned for conversation. She smiled back at him, a single eyebrow raised in faint incredulity.

"You're a landowner, and you don't know what a bridleway is? It's, you know, a public thoroughfare, Right to Roam and all that. Anyone's allowed down it, myself included!" She frowned with concern as she realised that Draco really wasn't familiar with any of it. "You actually had no idea?" She stood, and began folding up her easel. "My parents had me learn all of the technical stuff a couple of years back, as I'm the eldest. And I've known ever since I was little that people were allowed on certain parts of our land!" She paused. "It's almost time I went and got some lunch anyway, so what do you say we go into town and I'll tell you about it over the meal?"

Draco stiffened, but found himself replying even before he had really considered it.

"Yes," he said shortly, and then wondered at his own decision. "But I'm afraid I don't know the route into town... uh, by horse." He knew from the reaction of his household staff that it was unusual for Muggles not to drive cars, and was reluctant to admit to Kate that he didn't know how- only because he didn't want to arouse her curiosity and have her prying into his affairs, of course.

"Well, we'll drive, of course," Kate laughed, but a laugh which wasn't malicious or mocking. "I don't know where you'd leave your lovely friend here while we were eating, and besides, I'm afraid I never learnt to ride. I suppose you could always teach me that in return for my tuition in Law for Landowners! But anyway, first things first, how about I pick you up in about three quarters of an hour?" Draco nodded mutely, suddenly feeling that he had entirely lost control of the situation.

He still wasn't entirely sure what had happened when he found himself, a few hours later, sitting in a Muggle restaurant where he had just had some very nice _moules marinières_, listening to Kate talk with animation about her university studies. Even if he hadn't quite been able to fathom the course the past few hours had taken, he had at least been able to persuade himself that it had been for the best, anyway. This whole public right to roam thing all seemed very worrying, and Draco was highly perturbed that he hadn't heard about it sooner. The idea of all sorts of Muggles tramping all over his property, doing goodness knows what. Merlin forbid, he might even encounter one of them!

The problem didn't usually occur for wizarding households, because they all put up at least rudimentary anti-Muggle charms. However, Draco had been avoiding casting too many spells ever since he had come here, and he still felt reluctant now to take any steps to deal with the problem. After all, he hadn't had any problems thus far, and the designated footpaths and bridleways were all a fair distance from his house, or so Kate told him. Besides, anti-Muggle charms would play havoc with the staff, and Kate would require access to the bridleway as well... in return for her advice on the trespassing problem, Draco had agreed to teach Kate to ride. She had always wanted to, she said, but her mother had had a bad experience with a horse when she was young, and had never let Kate learn.

Over the course of their conversation he had found himself forced to admit that this meal had been a good idea for other considerations than the purely practical. It had been very strange at first, trying to make conversation, and it had even taken him a few minutes to identify what exactly the sensation was, until he understood that he was enjoying someone else's company. It was a very long time since he had spoken to anybody with any intention other than ending the conversation as soon as at all possible, with any intention even vaguely sociable. He realised now that he had missed that, missed the game of words at which he had excelled in his younger years. In former times he had enjoyed entertaining his classmates with jokes and anecdotes and boasts, basking in their laughter and attention.

He wasn't about to deny the idea that he was enjoying Kate's company just because she was a Muggle. They could never be friends, it could never be anything more than a few horse-riding lessons, because she could never understand him, and he could never respect her, but for the moment... well, it was nice. Draco wasn't one for shying away from his feelings, and in fact was quite proud that he never deluded himself about whether he liked or hated a person, but simply got on with doing whichever one it was. He remembered a few tension-filled Order meetings- early in the war, before the Dark Lord had become suspicious of him and his movements had become restricted- when Granger and Weasley had been having one of their hideously painful, petty misunderstandings, and could still very clearly recall his own amusement at their plight.

Slytherins, he had decided at the time, were eminently capable of deciding what they wanted, and then getting it. None of this tiptoeing around one another for years, the occasional word or deed jostling the other's emotions; much like two men sitting next to one another on the Knight Bus, both trying to read the Daily Prophet, and desperately trying not to knock elbows and invade the other's personal space. Of course, in the years that followed he would learn a little about life, and the various obstacles fate could pose when it wished to; would be forced to amend this motto to deciding what he wanted, and then identifying the myriad different reasons he wouldn't be able to get it. But still, it was far more clear-cut than the Ron Weasley way, and avoided the unbearable what-ifs.

Of course, having identified that friendship with Kate was an impossibility, what with her being a Muggle, Draco had to be careful not to get too close. He reminded himself firmly of this, as he caught himself feeling slightly disappointed as he counted out the tip. He would see her again tomorrow, of course, but it was difficult to talk too much when riding, and Kate especially, being a novice, would have to apply her full attention to controlling her horse. And so he felt a treacherous surge of relief when Kate pulled up short as they exited the restaurant and gasped.

"Oh my!" she breathed through the hand which she had brought up to cover her mouth. "I totally forgot I was driving, I never have the car during term-time, you see, so I'm not used to thinking about that sort of thing. Oh dear." Her face had fallen, and her blue eyes shone with dark embarassment, flickering as she searched for a solution. "I had too much of that gorgeous Chianti to be able to drive now- legally, at least, and I hate driving when I've had even a sip, so I daren't try it. I don't suppose you could drive?" She addressed Draco. "You didn't have as much as me, so-"

"I don't drive," Draco interrupted, his tone stern with the instinctive attempt to hide his own humiliation. "What I mean is..." he elaborated, as Kate had seemed shocked at this blunt rejection of her suggestion, "it's not that I won't, it's just that... well, I can't." Kate stared.

"You can't drive?"

"You can't ride! It's a similar thing," Draco told her, knowing perfectly well that really it wasn't at all. "My parents... they didn't really like cars." Or anything Muggle in origin, he added to himself. They wouldn't even use the magically modified Ministry ones.

"Well... I guess I'll be teaching you that, then," Kate replied, flustered, her tone still a little incredulous. "Let's set off walking, I suppose," she concluded. "I'm sorry, I should have remembered I was driving, but at least it's not that far, not even worth calling a taxi. I'll come back into town and pick up my car tomorrow."

After a little over half an hour of meandering through the countryside, they found themselves turning a bend in the road to be confronted by the long gravel driveway which led to Kate's home. They had talked constantly, without awkward silences, for the whole of the journey, giving the illusion that the journey had been brief, although Draco's aching feet were under no delusion about its true length.

"Well," Kate said, pausing and turning to Draco as they reached the sandstone-pillared gateway which marked the entrance to her property, "I suppose I'll see you tomorrow for that riding lesson. I intend to be the new National Velvet by the time I go back to uni, I warn you!" She laughed, and Draco smiled to see her laughing, even though he had no idea what a National Velvet was, or why Kate found the idea that she would be such a thing amusing. Kate's laughter halted suddenly as she observed his slight smile closely.

"I'm sorry if this is a personal question," she began, hesitant for the first time in their acquaintance, "but... well... I've been wondering the whole time I've been talking to you. Where are your parents? How old are you? It's just, well, if you're as young as you seem I can't understand why you'd be looking after your place yourself, and you haven't mentioned any parents, so I'm hoping I'm not making a fool of myself over some astonishingly well-preserved sixty-year-old." As this torrent of words poured forth from Kate's mouth without a breath to break the flow, Draco felt his own expression harden without a conscious thought at the mention of his parents.

"It is a personal question," he said, and turned away abruptly. Walking swiftly away towards his own home, he tried not to imagine Kate's hurt and confusion as she watched him disappear around the corner behind the tall dark green hedge at the edge of the road, her blue eyes darting with self-recrimination and speculation.

That, that was why he had stopped socialising in the first place. One innocent question could unleash a whole world of haunting memories which he had struggled in vain to bury. An innocent question he didn't dare answer, for fear of the other questions which would follow, and the less than innocent answers they would lead to. It might only be a fraction of the speculation he would find were he in the magical world, speculation with better foundation, but just the reminder of the dark periods in his past was enough.

He wouldn't be taking any driving lessons from Kate. He would still give her one riding lesson, just one, to repay his debt for today's tutorial. No Malfoy ever liked to remain indebted to anyone, and his father had often impressed upon him the need to repay favours as quickly as possible, so as to be able to give the repayment of your own choice- although conversely, having others in _your_ debt was highly desirable. A small part of Draco's mind pointed out that Draco's father would never have intended any dealings with Muggles by this. His father would never have repaid a Muggle for anything; but then he would never have believed that a Muggle could do him any favour he would need to repay.

He put off the riding lesson as far as he could, though. It wasn't that he was trying to avoid being in her presence again, just that he had things to do. This business with Blaise, for example. A few days after their encounter in Diagon Alley he had found himself once again heading for wizarding London, less keen than ever to hear Blaise's no doubt diabolical plans. He pulled out some dark grey wizard's robes from the recesses of the wardrobe for the occasion- in good time, thankfully, as he discovered they needed quite a bit of sprucing up before they were fit to wear, moth holes vanished, dust brushed off.

Usually when he went to Diagon Alley he just wore his Muggle clothes, with a long cloak to hide them. The act of rendering passable his robes brought home to him what he was doing, taking a step which could mean fully re-entering wizarding society. What would happen if this thing progressed? If Blaise required services of him which couldn't just be met by his money? If he had to take a personal interest in wizarding affairs again? He might have to buy a wizarding house, some house elves... he could even get himself a broomstick again. These luxuries, the things he missed, though, were only one side of the coin. The other was reading _Prophet_ articles about notorious Death Eaters who he had once counted as friends, hearing people gossip about a new development in a long unsolved case from back in the war, noticing the way people would suddenly stop talking when he approached, but would continue following his path with suspicious eyes...

This meeting wasn't a commmitment, though, her reassured himself. He didn't have to do anything, even if Blaise thought he had him pinned. Draco was a free man, and he wouldn't go back to that world if he didn't want to, and if he did... He held that thought as it unfurled a world of possibilities before him, and concentrated on clasping his cloak around his neck before Apparating from his room. He hadn't bothered putting anti-Apparition wards on the house, as no-one from the magical world knew his address anyway. Now he was glad he hadn't taken that step, as sneaking past Mrs Phillips in wizarding robes would have elicited a few questions, to say the least.

Upon Apparition to the co-ordinates Blaise had given him- Blaise naturally hadn't even considered that anyone might travel by any means other than Apparition, Floo being too easily traceable- he found himself standing outside a very ordinary-looking office block in some city. Not anywhere he knew in London, a quick glance at the skyline told him. The office block looked Muggle, but he knew that it was simply a facade which would have nothing to do with the interior. Apart from knowing that no former Death Eater would enter a Muggle building without a very good reason, he also felt the tingle of magic as he approached the door. Warding spells, maybe- if Blaise's venture was illegal enough- making it Unplottable or some such thing.

He passed through the smoked glass double doors at the front of the building into a room lit by flickering torches, and decorated with discrete silver serpent motifs on green and grey backgrounds. Blaise wasn't as hideously unsubtle in his décor as some Dark wizards he could recall, but he was style-conscious, and say what you like about the Dark side, they had nice colour schemes. Draco had to admit that given the opportunity to decorate a secret meeting place for Dark operations... well, the traditional colours and symbols had a certain gravitas, didn't they?

Defintiely not Muggle, he reflected as his critical glance took in the house elf who had approached him. It Banished his heavy travelling cloak- bringing that now seemed silly, really, since he had Apparated onto the doorstep, but then he hadn't known where the co-ordinates would take him; it could have been the middle of a field- and led him off down a corridor to the room where the meeting would take place.

As Draco entered the room and registered the several faces which met his sweeping glance, he suddenly felt inappropriately dressed. Instead of his ordinary wizarding robes, perhaps he should have dug out his old Death Eater regalia- if he hadn't destroyed it as a matter of necessity, of course. The majority of the witches and wizards who were staring at him now were ones with whom he had most often spoken when both parties were masked. He stifled an involuntary shudder at the memories of wartime which their presence suddenly returned to him so vividly, after so long never encountering any reminders of those years at all.

It was obvious that his presence was stirring up memories for them, too, but more pressingly it also brought questions. All of their stares had this in common, although, Draco noted, some were notably more hostile than others. If he had hoped to be welcomed back with open arms- unlikely, given that he had chosen to separate himself from them- then he would definitely have been disappointed. He should have expected this, he reminded himself as he took his seat. He had been living in his own head for too long, had forgotten that others didn't share his perspective on events.

None of them knew why he had, like them, been left free after the war. At the Order's insistence the details of all Death Eater trials had been made confidential, to protect their spies from 'reprisals'. Some might even know that the Dark Lord had suspected him of spying for quite some time during the war, Draco only earning his confidence back after his role in Ginny's death. And none of them would understand why he had withdrawn from magical society since the war, as all of them despised and went to great pains to avoid Muggles, and knew that he had once done the same.

"Now that we're all here," Blaise began, taking his own place at the head of the table, "I can explain _why_ you're all here, as only two of you, the younger Mr Nott and my cousin, Mr Simon Zabini, have been privy to the details before tonight. I must stress that this is strictly a business venture, in no way politically or ideologically-motivated.

"It has come to my attention that there is a significant- ah, shall we say- natural resource, in our country, which is not being exploited. Wizardkind has long been astute at making good use of the opportunities offered us by the other creatures which inhabit our world. They provide many of our Potions ingredients, from newts' eyes to Ashwinder eggs. The use of dried Billywig stings in a well-known brand of sweets is, I'm sure you will agree, ingenious! It is unfortunate that our government frowns on _certain_ pioneering, forward-thinking enterprises which are then forced to operate- how shall I put it... not entirely above board? I'm sure you understand my meaning.

"Dragons' eggs, unicorn blood... even trade in house elves is becoming increasingly difficult, with meddlers at the Ministry seeking to ascribe to them a humanity which is not theirs! It is important, I feel, to be clear on what we think of as human, and what we regard as sub-human. The Ministry, of course, has its Beasts and Beings, but I feel that to sacrifice our own interests for the sake of such sub-, or part-humans, would be laughable, were the various laws the Ministry attempts to enforce for the protection of such creatures not an entirely serious impediment to good business practice.

"I feel that I am entirely comfortable with myself and my ethics, if I only regard my own kind- witches and wizards- as having intelligible thoughts and feelings. And that is the crux of my argument; for you will have noted that I specify here the magical community, and not Muggles. No; their slow wits and questionable intellectual activity would, quite frankly, shame no small number of trolls, not to speak of those magical creatures which are almost equal in intelligence with wizardkind. All of you have, I am sure, at some point or other likened Muggles to some sort of farmyard animal- bovine comparisons certainly spring easily to the mind.

"And so here is my proposal: that we finally begin treating Muggles, not as sentient beings- as the poor, misguided Ministry attempts to persuade us they are- but as what we ourselves can _see_ from our own experience to be the case. They are no better than animals which are bought and sold as commodities. Some of you will already have grasped my meaning, I have no doubt. Having re-established contact with my mother's side of the family, who originate from the western coast of Africa, I have identified a demand for which I think it is important that we provide a supply.

"There is much more liberality in that part of the world for businessmen to pursue their own practices without the interference of the government, and many wizards from a variety of countries choose to operate in that area for this reason. And one of the multitude of ways in which they are able to take advantage of this favourable climate is in trading in Muggles and utilising them in menial labour. We can but admire this enlightened society, my friends. This is surely the _natural _Muggle-wizard relationship; _this_ is the way things should be! Not the pitiful state of affairs we find in our own country, where we cower in fear of their discovering us!"

Draco glanced around the room. Everyone seemed to be accepting Blaise's rhetoric; in fact a few were nodding fervently. It certainly made sense to Draco- that wizards were Muggles' superiors and should have due status as such... but why did he feel so strangely uncertain, so queasy when his thoughts hinted at the direction in which Blaise's proposal was going?

"However they are beginning to experience some problems with matching supply to demand, so to say. The local Muggles have become wary, and they rarely venture out in small groups any more. What's more, some primitive folk magicians have begun making use of magical methods to repel the traders. This has made it increasingly difficult for these businessmen to operate. Which is, of course, where we step in to lend a hand.

"Our Ministry's stance has unwittingly done us a favour in this instance. With the Muggles of this country entirely taken in by the pretence that magic is the preserve solely of so-called 'fairytales', it will be simplicity itself to waylay some of their unsuspecting and ignorant population. With my family's contacts, we will be able to sell them on to our brothers abroad for a substantial profit. However, as can be expected of all business ventures, an initial outlay will be required: to pay for transport for shipments, premises for storage of the stock, expenses for upkeep until the trade has been made, and other such things, until such a point as the trade will take care of itself. And so I ask you to lend your support to our scheme not only in the act of securing the goods, but also by backing it financially.

Blaise looked around at his audience appraisingly as he rounded off his speech. "Over the coming days I will approach you all individually to discuss in greater detail our plans, and the role which I had envisaged each of you playing in the venture. Good evening." He sat, making it clear that the meeting was over.

Most people around the table immediately began conversing with their neighbours in hushed tones, but Draco felt stifled. He hadn't wanted to come here, and he didn't want to spend any more time than he needed to around people so intimately acquainted with his past. He got up abruptly and left the room, ignoring the mutters which arose in his wake. He hurried along the corridor towards the entrance where he had left his cloak, but if he had harboured any hopes of a clean get-away, they were to be dashed. At the sound of his name he turned to see Blaise hurrying after him, a look of consternation on his face.

"I hope you're not having second thoughts, Draco," he said, his tone pleasant, but threatening possible unpleasantness if the conversation didn't go his way. It wasn't the first time Draco had heard the placating ring in his old friend's voice, although it hadn't usually been directed at him. He had been top dog among his peers in the old days- now look at him! Squeamish over a little not-so-legal Muggle trading? Strangely, he imagined similar thougts were probably running through Blaise's mind.

"You recall, of course, that we were friends for many years," he told Draco as he caught up. "I knew you as well as anyone did, once upon a time. It is for that reason that I thought of you when I began making plans- I would dearly like more than anything for this to be supported by the Malfoy estate. Few families of wizarding Britain have such wealth at their disposal." Draco hadn't been withdrawn from society for long enough that he had forgotten how to decode such utterances. He glared back at Blaise, supremely annoyed by his attempts to manipulate him.

"Let's be frank with each other," he snapped. "Blame my lack of social skills on my years in the wilderness if you will, but I have little taste for pointless concealment. You wish to remind me that we were Muggle-hating Death Eaters together, and that you could use that information against me- and will, if I don't co-operate. And as the others in that room are penniless compared with _me_, without my money your scheme can't get off the ground- so you'll do anything to make sure you get that cash. But tell me, Blaise; how are you planning to reveal _my_ role in the war without screwing _yourself_ at the same time?"

The black man's handsome features twisted into a snarl and the hostility lurking beneath the surface was abruptly revealed.

"Even if an anonymous tip-off doesn't get the attention of the authorities- and given that you got off the first time round, I don't expect it would, even if Potter would just _love_ to put you behind bars the way he did your father- I don't mind coming forward personally. I was confirmed as a Death Eater way back when, so _that_ won't come as any surprise to them. I saved myself from Azkaban by giving them names, so why not one late addition?

"And I can always claim that the memories of the Weasley incident, the only attack you could be deemed _completely_ responsible for- which is why you never did time, I suppose- have only just surfaced from beneath a memory charm. Which you no doubt placed upon me years ago in order to protect yourself. People won't think about it too hard. The public went insane over it at the time, and Weasley was close to the people who are in power now, so they'll leap at the chance to catch the person responsible for her death.

"_I'm_ a pillar of the community, donations to charity, completely reformed... but _you_, you're a recluse, you've been living practically in hiding all this time. You can see how it might look suspicious, no? Whose word do you think people would trust?" Draco's anger had dissipated through Blaise's speech, pricked by the sting of his words. Blaise hadn't got all the facts, but he was right in part: Draco had been wholly responsible for Ginny's death and had no wish for it to be dragged out in the open.

"You've got it all planned out, haven't you?" he replied wearily. "I don't suppose I expected anything else. I'm on board, anyhow, so don't worry. You'll get your Malfoy money."

"Good," Blaise responded curtly, eyes still narrowed. And then, a parting shot, as he turned and walked away. "Remember, to the public, Weasley ended up representing everything good in the world. There won't be any mercy for her killer." And Draco cursed silently, because Blaise's turn of phrase rang too neatly with something she had once said, caused his mind to become overwhelmed once again by _her_...

_She certainly hadn't minced her words in the end, though she'd started out gently enough. Perhaps she realised just how determined Draco was; knew that he wasn't going to just give up on her, and wanted to do everything in her power to make sure that he did just that._

"_Draco... you barely know me," she said kindly, calmly in the face of his declaration. "I was afraid you might say something like this... afraid because I know saying no will hurt you, and because I know you'll regret this later. Trust me, Draco, in time you'll know that whatever you might feel for me, it isn't love. I like you more than I ever thought I possibly could, back at school, and I have to admit that I look forward to our meetings, worry when we don't hear from you... but that's friendship, Draco. Nothing more, believe me."_

"_Don't try to tell me what I'm feeling," Draco protested, although he had almost expected something like this. "I may not know much about love, but I know I've never felt anything like this before."_

"_Draco... there are lots of things you hadn't experienced before you came over to our side. Love may be one of them, but true friendship is too. That's what this is, Draco, and I hope you can accept that, because I don't want to lose our friendship over something like this."_

"_But you don't understand, Ginny," he attempted. "You don't know how hard it is for me to be without you- you don't know how much you mean to me. It's like there's no light in the world but you, like everywhere else is darkness..."_

_But she was shaking her head._

"_Draco, I know you've been through a lot, your world's been just about turned upside down. And I realise that it must be difficult for you at the moment, not being able to trust anyone, in terrible danger at every moment. Don't think I don't feel for you. The Order's the only thing you've got going for you, and talking to me's the only time you can let your guard down, be yourself... But that doesn't mean that I'm the only good thing in the world. It doesn't mean you won't find other good things, other girls you can love... This isn't what you feel, Draco, it's just the situation you're in that's confusing you-"_

_"Don't tell me I'm confused! I love you, Ginny, and-"_

"_No!" she interrupted firmly. "Stop being selfish, Draco. I've given you my answer, and it's not going to change. I love Harry."_

"_But does he love you?" Draco asked, angry now. "If he loved you like I do, he wouldn't mess around with all this 'waiting for the end of the war' business. Nothing would come between me and you, war or no war."_

"_Shut up," she said quietly, her face pale and her eyes furious. "You don't know anything about him, Draco. He loves me, and I'm prepared to wait until this is all over because I_ _love him. Accept it." He watched her storm away, eyes flashing, and felt a pang of guilt for having hurt her like that. But he wasn't about to give up on this. Not by a long shot._


End file.
